These are dark times. Grey old men standing on their feet with books in hand, arranged like pieces on a checkerboard, they beseech us to run for cover because the defeat of the retro/heterosexual order and the victory of the Queer International is imminent.And they are right; they’ll find no cover.

These are dark times. Months of tormented discussions just so the parliamenarians could decree that queers might be turned into docile and meek couples, without little ones to raise. Though, well in advance of their authorizations, we already created and lived networks of multiple affects made of friends, comrades, brothers, sisters, babies, lovers.

These are dark times. Sexist and heteropatriarchal societies discovered the defenders of women’s freedom only to demonize Muslims and to militarize cities. But the struggle of women against male violence has always been self-organized. Feminists, migrants, and queers of every stripe are already marching together to destroy borders and to pass freely between genders and territories.

These are dark times. There are workplaces where we have to pretend to be heterosexual, others in which we are obliged to donate our eccentricity to the employer, to tailor it according to the whims of the marketing department. And even though gay glamour, lesbo-chic, underground looks bolster profits, our wage is a pittance and our lives remain precarious. Enough! As we prepare the Pink Spring, we say: If we really have to sell ourselves, we decide how and we set the price.

Uncivilized queers, exhausted creatives, old fashion truckers, old queens with no welfare, euphoric trans*, critical housewives, broke butches, overworked whores, rebellious grandmas, outsourced precarious workers: we are united and we proclaim to the world the…

DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE OF THE PEOPLE OF TWISTED LANDS

We are wild fags, weedy feminists, trans* flowers, clandestine and genuine: We create genealogies and kinship beyond the species. We are trans-ecologists; we resist the radioactivity of the nuclear family by experimenting with subversive forms of affect, pleasure, solidarity, relations.
We are the guerillas of the anal struggle against capital.

We snatch our creativity from fashion brands. From now on H&M Countesses and Lulu Lemon Queens will dress themselves. Designers and hairdressers, stylists and shopgirls/boys, we set up ephemeral apparatuses for the funeral of mandatory heterosexuality. Virtuous DIY lesbians, we stop selling Home Depot’s stuff by holding drills, saws and hammers. Instead we use them to build spaces liberated from neoliberal competition and exploitation.
We have already infiltrated the editorial staff of women’s magazines, of commercial radio and national-popular television: We interrupt this broadcast of sexual roles and the programming of brand new, ready-made identities to announce that we produce a new format: Subversion.

With the powers vested in us, we abolish the cult of self-employment and the obligation to transform everything which we are and everything we do into marketable skills. My Cunt is my Startup!
With the crumbs of recognition given by companies and anti-discriminatory policies we’ll make cookies. In any case, we decided to take over the whole patisserie. We speak for ourselves and we autonomously recognize in each other other selves.

We snatch forevermore the knowledge we have produced from the Academy of Capital in order to return it to open circulation. We will no longer be a case study, because our lives exceed any theory: We autonomously generate knowledge ‘about us’, about human and non human animals, and about the world. We collectively and autonomously reappropriate our own bodies, our capacity to to come/cum, to create, to transform.

In the trans*feministfaggot/queer peer counseling spaces, we deconstruct and reconstruct our bodies with any and all the physical and chemical prostheses we desire; we reinvent aesthetic standards, pleasures, the concept of health and we subvert the practices of care.

Hard Labor: In the Pink Spring we declare the abolition of work’s expolitation. We institute the Queer-Years Plan which gives us a home, lights, water, roses, gardenias and flowers for the perpetual struggle of everybody, everybrain and everybooby.
We are tired of living in expensive and ugly apartments: So we take back basilicas, palaces, vacant apartment blocks and castles for all. To each according to their needs, their desires, their fantasies.

We proclaim the beginning of de-civilization. We refuse the logic which divides cultures into “advanced” and “backward” under the pretext of “rights” for women or for so-called sexual “minorities.” We replace the straight line of progress with oblique lines, squiggly lines, dance-steps, vagabondage.
We take all the space we need. Firemen up in the trees meow, evictions ciao!

We, People of Twisted Lands, we invade this public space in opposition to and in excess of authorized life-styles. We are coming out of the dark rooms, out of the gyms, out of our rural retreats, we flood from evicted self-managed spaces, from streets and sidewalks, from the bounded spaces where they wanted to ghettoize us. We converge in continuously expanding common spaces. We contaminate every place with our Fabulosity: Every street, every boulevard, every corner that is useful for re-drawing the geography of our desires and our pleasures. They wanted us vacuuming up dust at home? They’ll find us in the street spreading the ashes of gender roles.